“But no, no, she shall be mine,” he cried out, moved in his very entrails.  Why should she refuse him?  What reason had he to believe that she would not have him?  He thought of how she had answered his questions on this and that occasion, how she had looked at him; he recalled every gesture and every movement with wonderful precision, and then he lapsed into a passionate consideration of the general attitude of mind she evinced towards him.  He arrived at no conclusion, but these meditations were full of penetrating delight.  Sometimes he was afflicted with an intense shyness, and he avoided her; and when Mrs Norton, divining his trouble, sent them to walk in the garden, his heart warmed to his mother, and he regretted his past harshness.

And this idyll was lived about the beautiful Italian house, with its urns and pilasters; through the beautiful English park, with its elms now with the splendour of summer upon them; in the pleasure grounds with their rosary, and the fountain where the rose leaves float, and the wood-pigeons come at eventide to drink; in the greenhouse with its live glare of geraniums, where the great yellow cat, so soft and beautiful, springs on Kitty’s shoulder, rounds its back, and purring, insists on caresses; in the large clean stables where the horses munch the corn lazily, and look round with round inquiring eyes, and the rooks croak and flutter, and strut about Kitty’s feet.  It was Kitty; yes, it was Kitty everywhere; even the blackbird darting through the laurels seemed to cry Kitty.

To propose!  Time, place, and the words he should use had been carefully considered.  After each deliberation, a new decision had been taken:  but when he came to the point, John found himself unable to speak any one of the different versions he had prepared.  Still he was very happy.  The days were full of sunshine and Kitty, and he mistook her light-heartedness for affection.  He had begun to look upon her as his certain wife, although no words had been spoken that would suggest such a possibility.  Outside of his imagination nothing was changed; he stood in exactly the same relation to her as he had done when he returned from Stanton College, determined to build a Gothic monastery upon the ruins of Thornby Place, and yet somehow he found it difficult to realise that this was so.

One morning he said, as they went into the garden, “You must sometimes feel a little lonely here ... when I am away ... all alone here with mother.”

“Oh dear no! we have lots to do.  I look after the pets in the morning.  I feed the cats and the rooks, and I see that the canaries have fresh water and seed.  And then the bees take up a lot of our time.  We have twenty-two hives.  Mrs Norton says she ought to make five pounds a year on each.  Sometimes we lose a swarm or two, and then Mrs Norton is so cross.  We were out for hours with the gardener the other day, but we could do no good; we could not get them out of that elm tree.  You see that long branch leaning right over the wall; well it was on that branch that they settled, and no ladder was tall enough to reach them; and when Bill climbed the tree and shook them out they flew right away.”